


I don't want to be an echo

by alenie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 16:55:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/864375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alenie/pseuds/alenie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles was usually more or less okay on the anniversary of his mom’s death.  He got up, he went to school, he came home. He dealt with it.</p><p>Not this year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I don't want to be an echo

Stiles was usually more or less okay on the anniversary of his mom’s death.  He got up, he went to school, he came home. He dealt with it.

Not this year.

He’d been thinking about his mom a lot lately. He was the only one in the hospital room when she died. They’d been visiting her, Stiles and his dad, and Stiles was eleven and angry. Angry at his mom for dying, angry at his dad for not being able to save her.

She’d been awake when they’d shown up at her room that morning, happy to see visitors but not quite there, stranded in a medication-induced haze. It would keep the pain away, the doctors had said, but there’d be side effects. Usually she just—couldn’t remember the date, or what she’d said ten minutes ago—but on this particular Thursday morning, she couldn’t remember Stiles.

She’d looked at him, and smiled, but in that horrible polite way that you do when you can’t remember where you’ve met someone, or what their name is. And his dad had taken him by the shoulders when he’d backed up a step, and said firmly, “Stiles is here to see you, Maggie. Your son.”

She’d wanted him to come closer, so he did, and she wanted to hold his hand, so he let her, even though he was scared. She didn’t sound like his mom anymore, and she didn’t look like her either, and her hand was thin and cold, her skin dry white paper against his.

She’d fallen asleep still holding his hand and Stiles had looked anxiously at his dad, hoping that they could leave now. He wanted to go to Scott’s house, and play with Legos, or maybe build a fort. He’d been spending a lot of time at Scott’s lately, more than usual. It was too quiet at his house. Too empty. All his mom’s things were still there, but _she_ wasn’t.

His dad’s phone had rung, and he’d looked at it and sighed, which Stiles knew meant that he had to take the call. He’d smiled apologetically at Stiles and ducked out of the room.

Ten minutes had passed slowly by, Stiles aimlessly biting his nails and staring at the ugly flower bouquets on the table by the window. Five more minutes and he had glanced down at his mom and she looked—different. Her face was slack and even paler than usual. It looked like—

“Mom?” he said. He jostled her hand; it flopped back down onto the sheet. She was so still, but she was always still these days.

“Mom, wake up,” he said, louder now. She didn’t move, and he couldn’t tell if she was breathing or not, and he stood up too fast and knocked over his chair. It fell to the floor with a rattle and he backed away, unable to take his eyes away from the bed.

He wanted to leave but he couldn’t leave her alone, not if—not if she was dead.

He made it to the doorway and looked out, heart beating so fast that he felt sick, blood rushing and thundering in his ears. When he spotted his dad at the end of the hall his knees almost gave out, and he clung to the the doorsill and yelled “Dad!” as loud as he could. His dad turned around, frowning, but when he saw Stiles’ face he said something into his phone and shut it, sliding it into his pocket as he hurried over.

“What’s wrong?” he said urgently, grasping Stiles by the shoulders, and Stiles said “Dad, I think…I think mom is…”

He couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud, but it didn’t matter. His dad let go of him and stepped into the room, leaving Stiles to sink shakily to the floor. He heard his dad talking, trying to wake her, and then picking up the phone and calling a nurse. Stiles watched as a nurse came, and then a doctor, and then Scott’s mom, who saw Stiles crouched on the floor and said something to his dad that made him start and look round, as if he had forgotten Stiles was there.

“Stiles, I have to stay here a while longer, but Melissa is going to take you to her house, okay?” his dad said. “You’ll have dinner there and I’ll come pick you up later.”

Stiles nodded and got to his feet. His dad drew him into a tight, brief hug, and then Melissa had a hand on his back and was steering him out of the room.

*

Four years later and Stiles and his dad were managing, even if managing meant that his dad drank more than usual when the anniversary rolled around, and Stiles got more sarcastic and edgy.

But this year was different.

The anniversary was on a Monday, and Stiles woke up and couldn’t make himself get out of bed. He’d seen so many people die this year that he supposed he ought to be getting used to it, but he felt a little more broken every time. That day in the morgue when he’d been expecting an anonymous body and had instead come face-to-face with Heather’s corpse had been the tipping point. Their moms had been best friends; hers had visited Stiles’ twice a week once she’d gotten sick.

And now her daughter was dead and Stiles had been the last one to see her alive and Stiles’ dad looked at him more suspiciously with every crime scene he found him at.

And Stiles kept replaying the day of his mom’s death, and how he’d been the last one to see _her_ alive too.

His dad was already at the station (he always went in early and came home late on the anniversary), so no one was around to care that Stiles didn’t take a shower, didn’t get dressed, didn’t eat breakfast, didn’t get in the Jeep and drive to school.

His phone started beeping during second period. Stiles was lying curled on his side, staring at the wall, and he reached a hand out and unlocked his phone. He had two texts from Scott, wondering where he was. Stiles ignored them. Scott texted three more times over the next hour and Stiles didn’t answer any of them. Eventually he fell back asleep, only to wake up with a start when the door to his room swung open and Scott burst in.

“Stiles!” Scott said, out of breath.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“You didn’t show up at school, I thought something had happened. Are you sick? Why are you still in bed?”

Stiles rolled over, away from Scott.

“Yeah, I’m sick,” he lied. “Go back to school, Scott.”

“Stiles,” Scott said softly. “I know what day today is.”

“Then leave me _alone_ ,” Stiles said. He felt the bed dip as Scott sat down and then Scott’s hand was on his shoulder. Stiles looked over his shoulder at him, determined to make him leave, but Scott’s expression was worried and apologetic and soft.

“Scott—” Stiles said, voice breaking embarrassingly. “I miss her so much.”

“I know.”        

Stiles sat partway up and leaned back against the headboard of his bed, giving up any possibility of Scott leaving and letting him go back to sleep.

“People keep dying and I don’t know what to do but I have to _do_ something Scott, I can’t—I can’t keep letting people die.”

He blinked hard, trying to keep the tears from spilling over, and swiped the back of his hand over his face.

“This is _not_ your fault,” Scott said, and there was a split-second of hesitation before he leaned in and wrapped his arms around Stiles, cautiously, like he thought Stiles might object. Stiles let himself be enveloped in Scott’s arms. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d hugged like this. There was a lot more of Scott than there used to be, more muscle and height, and he felt warm and solid against Stiles.

“We’re gonna fix it,” Scott said into his hair. “I promise we will.”

“Okay,” Stiles said, face undeniably damp. He sniffed wetly. “Thanks.”

“Anytime, dude. You hungry?”

“I could eat,” Stiles said, and let Scott pester him into getting up and going downstairs, sitting on the counter to watch Scott navigate his kitchen like he’d done hundreds of times before. Scott toasted Eggos and poured Stiles a glass of milk, and by the time they were eating, Stiles felt like maybe today would be manageable after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me on [tumblr](http://alenie.tumblr.com), where I like to post cute boys and yell about things.


End file.
